Chapter 17 Hannah
Hannah
At cocktail hour, I weaved through the crowd toward the bar almost automatically, drawn to the familiar rhythm of bottles and glasses, the comfortable choreography of bartenders working.
The space behind a bar had always felt safe. Even on the other side now, just watching the bartenders work quieted the nervous energy thrumming through me since I’d watched Connor stand at that altar, his careful control barely masking whatever was breaking underneath.
I grabbed a champagne from a passing server and lingered near a tall table, half-hidden.
That’s when I spotted Sebastian near the other end of the bar. When his eyes landed on me, something flickered across his face. Calculation. Opportunity.
He detached from his group, whispering something to a blonde woman in a tight red dress before heading towards me. I took a deliberate sip of champagne and straightened my spine. I could handle this.
“Hannah,” he said with a fake smile. His gaze swept the room, not seeing Connor. “What a surprise. Alone?”
The word landed exactly how he’d intended—a subtle dig.
“Connor’s with the wedding party. Photos.”
“Ah.” Sebastian said smoothly. “Still bartending?”
The condescension grit against my skin like sandpaper. “Yep.”
“Such a waste,” he said, shaking his head with false concern. “All that education, that Callihan & Murphy experience. But I suppose not everyone’s cut out for the pressure.”
My fingers tightened on my champagne glass. “Or maybe not everyone wants to compromise their ethics for a corner office.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you tell yourself? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you couldn’t hack it and—”
“Excuse me,” I said, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I need to find the restroom.”
Although Connor originally extended this invitation so I could show Sebastian that I'd moved on, as I looked at his shocked face that I'd cut him off, I realized that I hadn't cared about that for a while. I’d been more excited about seeing Connor again. In fact until I saw him, I barely remembered he’d be here.
Sebastian wasn't my date or my colleague—just a part of my past that I didn't want to revisit. I didn’t owe him closure, or explanations, or even politeness. So I walked away before he could respond.
The ladies’ lounge was tucked down a hallway off the main ballroom—all marble and soft lighting, with a sitting area of upholstered chairs outside the actual bathrooms. I found an empty stall and sat down, was just finishing up when the outer door squeaked open and I heard Victoria’s voice, low and tense.
“Dad, I’ve already told you: I'm not hiring Walter Reynolds.”
I froze. She was in the lounge area, pacing, and I was trapped now—I’d have to either stay in the stall until she was done or walk past her to get out.
“I don’t care that he ran McKinsey’s finance division for twenty years. He called me ‘sweetheart’ in the preliminary interview. Sweetheart. Treating me like a buxom secretary bringing him coffee instead of his potential boss.”
I tore the toilet paper as quietly as possible, trying to make myself inaudible.
“It’s not about being sensitive, it’s about—” Victoria’s voice rose slightly, then dropped again.
“No. I’m not letting you or anyone at the headhunting firm talk me into hiring another old guard type who thinks I should be running The Sinclair Group the old way.
The company has evolved. I’ve evolved it. We need someone who—”
A pause. I could hear the frustration even in her silence.
“We’ll discuss this Monday. I’m at a wedding, Dad. Yes, I know we need someone by Q1, but I’m not making a bad hire just to fill the position faster.” Another pause. “Yes. Monday.”
I heard a decisive click, then a long exhale, then footsteps—the sharp sound of heels moving. I tried to pull my legs up so they wouldn’t be visible under the stall door, but one of my shoes scraped against the floor. Victoria’s footsteps stopped suddenly.
I waited a beat, then emerged and moved to the sinks.
“Oh,” she said when she saw me. “Hannah. Sorry, I didn’t realize…” She looked embarrassed. “You probably heard all of that.”
When I glanced in the mirror, Victoria faced me as I washed my hands.
“Some of it,” I admitted. “I’m sorry. I tried to be quiet.”
“No, I should apologize. Taking work calls at a wedding is bad form.” She moved to the sitting area and dropped into one of the upholstered chairs, rubbing her foot with a grimace. “And apparently I’ve reached the age where I can’t wear new heels for more than four hours without consequences.”
I dried my hands slowly, not sure if I should leave or stay. Victoria looked exhausted—not just physically, but the kind of tired that came from fighting the same battle over and over.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
She sighed. “We’ve been trying to fill this position for three months, and every candidate has been—” She stopped herself, glanced at me. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear about this.”
I moved to the lounge, leaning against the counter rather than sitting—giving myself an exit if she wanted privacy. “Sometimes it helps to vent to someone who’s not invested in the outcome.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“That’s the problem. Everyone’s invested.
My father wants someone who’ll maintain the status quo.
The board wants someone ‘experienced,’ which is code for ‘old enough to have finished college before I was born.’ The headhunters keep sending me the same profile over and over—Ivy League, twenty-plus years at traditional firms, impeccable credentials. ”
“But?”
“But they all want to work at the company my grandfather ran, where the CEO was a figurehead and the real decisions were made by old white men in boardrooms.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m not hiring someone who’s going to try to undermine everything I’ve improved.”
I thought about my own job search—the polite rejection, the interviews that went nowhere. The sense that I was being filtered out before anyone even looked at my resume.
“Can I ask what the headhunters are actually screening for?” I said.
Victoria looked up, interested. “The usual. Experience, education, track record.”
“Right. Those criteria are designed to find people who’ve succeeded in traditional corporate structures.
” I chose my words carefully. “People who’ve learned to say yes to authority, to not rock the boat.
They’re screening for people who’ve never challenged the system—because in most companies, challenging the system means you don’t advance. ”
Victoria was quiet, studying me with an intensity that made me want to squirm.
“So if you’re looking for someone who will push back when they think you’re wrong? The filters are designed to screen those people out.”
The words hung in the air between us. I suddenly felt very exposed, like I’d revealed too much about my own experience.
“Well,” she said, her professional composure sliding back into place. “Thank you for the perspective.”
We walked back toward the ballroom together, the sound of music and laughter growing louder as we approached.
At the entrance, Victoria smiled—a real one, not her CEO smile.
“Enjoy the dancing. And if Connor starts brooding or micromanaging, tell him I said he’s allowed to have fun.
God knows he’s reminded me of that enough times over the years. ”